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society is and has been for ages their deluded dupes?. They have thundered at the door of the sanctuary: do they now fear to despoil it of its sacred treasures 7 No' I will not believe such an anomaly. There is friendship, real, devoted, unbought friendship ! There is something pure and noble in man; and never will I, for one, consent to aid in throwing down the grand pillar of society by promulgating the belief that man knows no creed but that of interest Never will I make a scorn and a mockery of the finest feelings of humanity And never, oh! never will I believe that he whose heart seems to gush in union with mine—who appears to admit me into the very sanctuary of his heart, and who diffuses a tranquil and quiet happiness around one by his kindness and affectionate assiduity—never, I say, will I believe that he would consent, at the first call of interest, to throw off the long-tried affection of years, and coolly and cruelly rend asunder those bonds which ought to be dearer to him than life What shall I say of those who, in the face of that Heaven which thunders back the refutation of their unholy opinions, and in the face of that society whose existence they are undermining, dare proclaim the condemnation of their own selfish littleness? Once, no doubt, the flame of better and truer feelings burned brightly in their bosoms; but alas ! time and the indulgence of base and degrading passions have diffused an intellectual torpor over every faculty. The swelling fountains of the heart have long since been choked by the dust and rubbish of the world,

and they now look back with dim and uncertain recollection upon the past, around which a sombre darkness is fast gathering, and they consider friendship only as a forgotten dream. Ay! let it be a dream, if they will have it so-a “waking,” a noble dream, but rather a bright and glorious reality And these men, hardened in the commerce of the world, and from whom the beautiful has faded away like some passing rainbow which spans the arch of heaven for an instant, throws a momentary brilliancy over all things, and then passes away—these, I say, are those who would pretend to say that there is no friendship !—

“O ! ye to nature's purest Joys unknown,
Can ye presume to judge, with hearts of stone,
The throbs which actuate an immortal soul
O'er which Eternal Wisdom has control 3
Think ye the stature of each heaven-born mind
To the mean measure of your own confined ?
As well the sluggish owl, that courts the night,
Might check the eagle in his sunward flight,
And think, because to him it is not given,
No nobler bird can face the light of heaven!”

I can not but pity him who is so unfortunate as not to be possessed of friends. He suffers mentally all the agony which Prometheus is fabled to have experienced. He, too, like the hero of classical story, is chained down to a cold and rugged rock, and vultures prey incessantly upon his heart Life is his tyrant, and the world the scene of his sufferings! Alas! where can he find happiness 2 where comfort? where assistance? To him life is truly one long and dreary desert; and no pleasures, like the crystal fount of the wilderness, whose trickling waters make a place of greenness and beauty around them, will spring to meet and cheer his wearied and desolate spirit ! The shipwrecked sailor, when abandoned by all save Providence, gazes with harrowing despair at the dismal prospect of which he catches occasional glimpses: around him is a dark and foaming sea, and above him the darkened heavens are lowering in gloomy and terrible magnificence. Man is asar off, and he may be overwhelmed beneath the raging waters, and his fate be unknown and unwept. Thus is it with him who is friendless. He is alone upon the wide world: there is not one single living creature with sense to pity or power to relieve his miseries. The hand of sickness may press heavily upon his debilitated frame; the grave may yawn before him, and he must sink into it and be forgotten. The mind of man can not but recoil with horror from such a gloomy and repulsive fate. It can not but harrow the very soul to dwell, even for an instant, upon the probability of such a consummation of our lives. Day after day to languish on the verge of dissolution, without an affectionate hand to smooth the pillow of sickness—without a single kind voice to whisper hope and consolation—and then to go down to a “cold and silent grave:” such a prospect is

sufficient to unman the strongest soul. Rather than “sleep in oblivion,” we could willingly, ay, cheerfully, undergo privation, misery, sickness, and even obloquy itself, if the hand of affection ministered to our wants, and if some fond and grateful heart should cherish our aftermemories. While gazing upon a gnarled and weatherbeaten oak, which stood alone in solitary desolation in the midst of a vast field, and which the lightning of heaven had stricken, I have often thought that, had it grown in the forest among other trees, it would have escaped and flourished in “greenness, and beauty, and strength.” The thought is true even to triteness; but I hope the application of it may redeem it from unmerited censure. How apposite the condition of the friendless and unfortunate man to that of the blighted tree Had he surrounded himself with all the beautiful charities of social life, misfortune might have been arrested, and prosperity and happiness have blessed him : at least he would not have suffered so heavily. But he stood alone; and when misfortune came, it was with tenfold grief and bitterness, for there were none to comfort him It is chiefly in youth that strong and endearing friendships are to be formed. Life then is new and lovely, and the freshness of “morning's breath” is diffused over all things by the magic of youthful fancy. Then it is that the heart beats in gay unison with each harmonious impulse of the outer world. Then it is that each thing wears the livery of joy, and the rainbow-colors of hope

are flung over the bright and vivid picture of the future,

which imagination so much delights to portray. Then it is that fancy creates a beautiful and ideal world, in which the feelings are absorbed, and by the influence of which they are refined. It is then, in fine, that the pure, unrestrained emotions of the heart give a charm to every act, and confer a universal happiness, which in after-years we seek in vain to recall. We have no , as yet, known coldness or deceit ; and, unchecked in sportive gladness, imagination roams among the fairest and loveliest flowers of earth. The heart throws out its tendrils, and they wind themselves around innumerable objects, gradually strengthening its hold, until no force can break it without first giving a death-blow to every sensitive and generous feeling. It is this extreme susceptibility of youthful feeling, which has, in a greater or less degree, given occasion to querulous declamation upon the impropriety of warm attachments. The evils of hypocritical friendship are pointed out to us; and hence it is asserted, in a most Timon-like spirit of suspicion, we should beware of the kindly intentions of all. Not that any one is so bold as to dare plainly to state such a ridiculous proposition; but they inculcate it in a thousand indirect manners. I would not have you think that I mean that you should make an intimate friend of every one in whose company you are casually thrown. I know but too well the folly of such conduct. There are enough of “good-natured men” in the world already, without it being necessary to seek to increase their number, considering the continual distrust which is cherished

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